


Performance Art

by RisqueSno



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alley Blow Jobs, F/M, Normalization of an Abusive Relationship, Super Old Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-06-27
Updated: 2006-06-27
Packaged: 2018-01-10 17:30:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1162512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RisqueSno/pseuds/RisqueSno
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a fantastic heist, Harley's ready and willing to play her part in order to receive the reward...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Performance Art

**Author's Note:**

> Rating: Rated Explicit (For dirty alley sex acts and some smacking around)
> 
> Disclaimer: DC owns all these characters and WB owns DC and Time Warner owns WB and I'm pretty sure the rest of the world. Also, I stole this disclaimer from Gladrial.
> 
> Author Notes: Finally, it's complete! I'd like to thank Gladrial for bugging me to write, WittyFae for encouraging me even after seeing the unfinished trainwreck, Dreamlandburns for inspiring me midway with her smutty goodness in all it's cigarette burning glory, Nanocyte for wanting to actually read the damn thing enough that it spurred me on through three whole paragraphs, and TheMadPuppy who started this whole mess with her brilliance. All of these people were what made Backalley Blowjob happen!
> 
> Also, sincere apologies to Paul Dini. I'm sorry I make your darling character have abusive sex in alleys! Really, it's an act of love on my part. Honestly.
> 
> Re-edited 3/2/11: I could have changed this significantly at the end. I could have lessened what happened, made it a bit more subtle. But I would prefer to leave this as it is, as I wrote it when I was certain this was my masterpiece. Would I do it differently, now? Yes. Of course, in another five years, I would just change it again to suit my current tastes, so this is for the best. The words are still beautiful to me and that is all that matters.

 

It had been a spectacular escape that night. They'd left Guanoman stumbling out of his busted car by the docks after leading him through a lengthy car chase that spanned the stretch of Gotham itself. Her Puddin' had even gotten in a couple of good cracks at Bird Boy's leg during the fight out of the golf museum.

"Did you hear the way that nine iron smashed against his kneecap, Harley-girl? I don't think we'll be seeing him for a few months!"

The Joker's cold laughter rang through her ears like beautiful music, and she nearly dropped the bag of priceless crystal golf tees, stumbling over herself while getting out of the car. Harley giddily scurried down the alleyway after him, knowing that she'd be rewarded for her good work in smashing Batgirl's head against the Bobby Jones statue.

However, he stopped her short of the hideout door, wrapping one of his large hands around her arm and pulling her back towards him.

"Dontcha wanna go inside, Boss?" She put on her cutest puzzled expression, playing her part perfectly. Harley knew full well what was about to happen and just the thought of it made her ache with anticipation.

Her darling flashed her a rakish grin and responded, "I think we'll enjoy the fresh air tonight, sugar."

Of course, in the concrete maze of Gotham there was never any fresh air to be had, but they were pretending. And part of pretending with her Puddin' was that you never spoke out of turn, which was very good advice most of the time anyway.

But it was her turn now, and Harley had to suppress her squeal of excitement. "What are we gonna do out here, Puddin'?"

His wicked smile gleamed from the shadows and the time for talking was officially over. The Joker leaned comfortably against the brick wall of the alley and gave Harley a brief kiss on the lips before applying pressure to her spandex clad shoulders. Knowing what was expected of her, she obediently fell to her knees.

One of the things about Joker was that he tended to repeat himself. A lot. It wasn't his fault really, how was he supposed to remember every little thing he said? However, there was a phrase he used more consistently than anything else: "If they're watching, give 'em a show." It was the way he expected all associated with him to act.

Especially Harley Quinn.

She was his living doll, the pretty toy he broke into a million pieces and reassembled by hand, made in his own twisted image.

_His._

That single word was what had Harley kneeling in front of this criminal. This genius. Performing in the wide open of Crime Alley...it was to show her off, not to anyone really, just on principal. And as a reminder.

She was owned.

Her usually nimble gloved fingers fumbled at the opening of his garish pants, the fabric slightly singed from the hilarious blaze they had left the golf museum engulfed in. Effortlessly, she slid into her all too familiar role, the moves coming as easily as her rigorous gymnastics training used to. The flips and tumbles replaced by encouraging caresses and twists of her tongue, but it was the same feeling of weightlessness. Accomplishment. Discipline.

Joker's long fingers were pressing incessantly on the back of her head and she knew the marks would bruise. But Harley didn't care, nothing else mattered. Nothing existed but him and her and the warmth in her hands.

Harley remembered the first time she had done this for him, shortly after joining him in his life of crime. How he had marveled with perverse delight at her painted face pressed against his thigh, watching himself disappear between her full, black lips. She had felt powerful and wanted, as if she was giving him something no other dared.

Of course, there was already one thing that Harley knew only she could give him best: Utter and complete devotion. No one else had ever given as much as she had and didn't deserve to even touch her magnificent man. This was her rightful reward.

He was close, she could feel it in the way his nails dug into her and how the pulse in her mouth began to pump furiously. The din of nearby  
traffic was distant in Harley's mind...only her darling's harsh breathing and groans reached her ears. This was the part she lived for, the one moment when he let go completely and allowed her to release all of his frustrations with the world. She quickened her pace.

It was like bringing a god to his knees, Harley thought dreamily as he emptied himself into her with a gasping shudder. The bitter tang burned as it poured down her throat, something she had become accustomed to long ago. Seemingly recovered, Joker unceremoniously wrapped one of his hands around an ear of her costume and slammed her head against the brick wall. He grinned fiendishly at the sickening crunch the connection made.

"Good routine, Harl. Needs a bit of work on the delivery though," he commented casually over his shoulder to the dazed form slumped on the  
ground.

She staggered to her feet after a few moments, numbly noticing the wetness spreading down her face from the wound. Looking around blearily for the Joker, she realized he must have already gone inside. It was left to her to pull the bag of crystals into the hideout, the feeling of nausea overwhelming her senses. As she stumbled dizzily towards the door only one thought penetrated the fog of her oncoming concussion...

_One day, I'll love him so much that it's going to kill me._


End file.
